The singer wandered off to find his brother, dodging a chattering pair of women walking away from the cream and sugar bar. Snagging a lemon bar bite, Forest popped the treat into his mouth and chewed, wondering if he could ever taste the tart citrus sweet without thinking of the lemon chiffon soap Con used. Or how good the man’s skin smelled when they had sex in the shower.
A familiar shape appeared to linger just in view of the Amp’s main picture window, and Forest frowned, wondering for a fraction of a second why he knew that indistinct form, when it dawned on him. It was Ginger, and the warmth in his soul crackled up quickly, turning to an ashen sourness thick enough to choke on.
“Are you all right, love?” Brigid came up to him and put her hand on his back. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe you should sit down.”
“No, um….” He stumbled over his own tongue, unsure about what to say—what to do, really. He’d not seen his mother in months, and when he’d paid her bail, she hadn’t even come by to thank him. Now she hovered outside, obviously turned off by the show of police in the shop but wanting something bad enough to slink about at the perimeter, probably gathering enough of a spine to walk through the door. “My… mom’s here. Outside.”
“Do you want me to get rid of her for you?” Connor’s mother asked gently. “’Cause I can, you know. It’d be my pleasure. I won’t even use a knife to do it.”
He looked down at her, startled but not surprised. For all of her soft voice and sweet Irish tone, Brigid’s eyes glittered with a fierce anger. She’d been a constant in his life since Rollins invaded Con’s—their—home. Between cooking dinners and stuffing the freezer, she’d plied Forest with cookies, hot coffee, and most of all, a constant chatter to fill the quiet he often found himself falling into.
She’d gone with him to buy a car, working the salesperson down to the bone in price. Then they’d spent the afternoon making ice cream with a bemused Damien and a wary Miki. When Brigid finally wrangled a wide smile from the singer with an impromptu game of throwing chocolate chips at his mouth to see if Miki could catch them, Forest felt his first tingling awareness of a life outside of what he’d known. Of what he’d expected. Sitting in the Morgans’ kitchen, surrounded by decades of family and love, Forest found himself not longing any more.
It was the weirdest day of his life—the most normal day he’d ever had—but it was weird.
When Connor came by to ooh and ahh over his newly purchased Honda SUV, he’d let the man lead him up to the widows’ walk and sat there in the waning sun, holding Con’s hand as Donal readied a massive BBQ for the family’s Sunday gathering. It was perfect—sitting between Connor’s raised knees and basking in the sun.
The moment became sublime when Connor leaned over Forest’s shoulder to kiss his ear, then murmured, “Love you, a ghra.”
Forest couldn’t let his mother—wouldn’t let his mother—ruin this for him. Not when he’d not even let himself dare to dream of living a life he’d seen others lead.
Shaking his head, he replied, “No, but thanks. I’ve got to—this is something I’ve got to do myself.”
“I’m here if you need me, honey.” Brigid’s growl was a soft mewl compared to her son’s rumbling whiskey of a voice, but it bore as much of a bite. “You go and tell her what you need to, but when she tries to pull any shit, you remember I’m there with you.” She tapped his chest, right above his heart. “In here. No matter what, I’ve got you, son.”
“Thanks, Bridge.” Forest kissed her cheek, and one of her curls tickled his nose. “Tell Con where I’m at if he asks.”
“SO ROLLINS is sick?” Captain Leonard frowned over his coffee. “What the hell is porphyria? And why the hell didn’t they find it when he was in prison?”
“It’s genetic,” Connor explained to his boss. “He had records of migraines, but they figured it was bad eyesight or something else. Why look for zebras when you hear hoofbeats? Doctors went after what they thought was the problem. It’s not common. They don’t know if they can cure it either. He’s too far gone.”
“Mad King George’s disease,” Kiki said. “Makes people delusional. Even hallucinate. They don’t know if he’s ever going to be really okay. It was left untreated for too long. Some talk of suing the prison docs, but shit, those guys are risking their lives to give out flu shots. They gave him the best care they could. The court’s going to have to see what they can do for him. DA’s still pressing him for murder. That’s not going to change.”
“So he’s nuts,” Leonard stated. “They’re going to let him walk.”
“Can’t. He’s a danger to himself as much as to society,” Connor pointed out. “They put him on suicide watch. No matter what the doctors say, Rollins isn’t coming out again.”